


Mylimoji

by pennedbymazoji



Series: Mylimoji [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Collars, Daddy Kink, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Reader-Insert, mentioned Will/Abigail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennedbymazoji/pseuds/pennedbymazoji
Summary: You're not adjusting well to life in Florence. Hannibal thinks that submission can help you relax, but you have other ideas.Sequel to Physicality
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Reader, Hannibal Lecter/You
Series: Mylimoji [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788673
Comments: 4
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

_ Is there anything that you require before I return home, darling? _

_ No, thank you. _

You locked your phone again and threw it on the bedside table, burying your face in the satin pillowcase. Hannibal was only trying to help, you knew that, but you couldn’t think clearly enough to even begin to formulate a plan for feeling better, or even different, than you did. There were too many thoughts flying around your head, all passing by too quickly for you to fully understand them. Your mind felt like a messy chalkboard, the equation you needed lost within scribbled notes and hasty diagrams. Sighing, you blindly felt for your phone again before shooting a simple text to Abigail.

_ I miss you. How long do you think? _

Her response bubble appeared almost immediately, typing out an answer while you waited.

_ I miss you too. Not long now. Six months, maybe less. _

Abigail had stayed behind to be with Will. After your outburst and Hannibal’s confession, you’d sat down with Abigail the next morning to go over what would happen that night. If Will didn’t betray Hannibal, you would leave together. If he did, as was suspected, Hannibal would gut him and leave him on the kitchen floor. He wouldn’t kill Will, of course, just... seriously injure. Will wasn’t his, after all. It had made much more sense once Hannibal had explained it to you; he wasn’t interested in Will, Abigail was, and she would have him. You felt a brief urge to stab her for letting you believe that it was Hannibal who had wanted Will and not her, but in the end you agreed that it must have been amusing to watch you panic.

She would stay behind as well. Hannibal would slit her throat, shallow enough that he would avoid severing anything critical. Abigail would oversee the rest of Will’s transformation, and they would join you when he was ready. He’d already been close, calling Hannibal to warn him and advising him to leave, but there was still a final push to be made before you could be sure that he wouldn’t try to turn on your family again.

You missed her. All those days in the house by the cliff, you had taken her company for granted. Abigail had helped you bring all of your repressed emotions, all of your love for her and Hannibal and your grief for the life you’d survived and destroyed in order to find them, to light. She’d talked you through recognizing your feelings based on what you felt physically, helping you categorize them. She’d explained that you could feel frustrated and upset with losing your family and leaving that identity behind, even if you were happier with her and Hannibal by your side. She was the only one who you felt could understand, but she was across the world, looking after Will Graham in Virginia while you were sprawled on your ridiculously expensive bed in Florence. You made a mental note to remind Hannibal that you needed to move soon. It had been three months since you’d settled in Florence, and you had no doubt that someone would catch on soon enough. Italy seemed an obvious destination for Hannibal Lecter. You scoured your mind for potential new locations. You didn’t want to leave Europe, not until Abigail and Will had joined you. Perhaps Germany?

The thought caused a wave of memories to crash over you: a family trip to Berlin when you were younger. You’d been so innocent, looking at your parents as if they hung the moon. That was long before your father had begun killing, longer since you’d joined him, and longer still before your mother found out. Now, they were both ashes, scattered by the wind in the woods where your father had taught you to hunt. Your mother, shot dead by your father. Your father, shot dead by Will Graham. You’d escaped, survived, with only a bullet wound on your leg. Whether your father’s shot had been affected by Will’s or if he had actually meant to spare you, you couldn’t be sure. You absentmindedly curled down to run your fingers along the scar that lived on your thigh. 

You heard the jingle of keys before Hannibal’s voice reached you. You didn’t respond; the apartment was small enough that he would find you within seconds anyway, even if he doubted your location. His steps approached the bedroom and the door swung open, revealing Hannibal, clothed in your favorite red and grey suit with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and a black bag hanging from his forearm. You offered him a weak smile, pushing yourself into a sitting position as he entered the room. He strode over to the bed with calm, even steps before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“For you, my love,” he purred, sitting down next to you and extending the bouquet. It was made of beautiful, deep red roses interspersed with white baby’s breath. You leaned forward, pressing your head to his shoulder as you took the flowers from his grasp. Within seconds of freeing his hands, you felt his fingers carding softly through your hair, grounding you to the present moment. “I apologize for returning so late in the evening. A policeman has taken a particular interest in me and the local florist had quite the terrible selection.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t return home with his heart rather than a bouquet,” you responded, feeling the warm breath of his stifled laugh on your cheek. “We’ll need to move soon.”

“I’ll take you wherever you would like to go, dearest.” He leaned back from you then, much to your dismay. His maroon eyes swept over your body, still clothed in the silk pajamas you had worn to bed last night. “Have you eaten today? Bathed?” You flushed with embarrassment and annoyance. 

“No,” you mumbled, shifting under his gaze. He paused for a moment before speaking again.

“Do you need my help,  _ princess _ ?”

The emphasis made you shiver. Despite the fact that you hadn’t explored this aspect of your relationship much, you felt yourself fall into the role with an almost practiced ease. His experience surely came from his childhood, spent taking care of his sister. You, on the other hand, had been extremely independent. Maybe that was why you enjoyed the dynamic so much.

“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled, folding your hands on your lap. His weight left the bed as he left you for the attached bathroom; the sound of running water reached your ears after a few moments. The splashing water mixed with the vibrations of his slight humming, something that you knew was more for your comfort than his benefit. Despite how quick you were to drop into the role of someone to be cared for, it still made you nervous and carried a fair amount of guilt. How could you call him  _ daddy _ , when you already had a father, and one that had killed because he was so afraid of losing you? How many people would Hannibal kill to keep you with him? Were you really so broken by your father…

“Mylimoji,” Hannibal called, appearing in the doorway of the bathroom. It was almost supernatural, the way he could tell when the wave of your thoughts was threatening to crash and drag you to the sea floor. His voice was sweet and coaxing. “Would you like to pick a bath bomb to use?” You looked up at him, silhouetted against the light from the bathroom, and nodded. Still, you didn’t move. A few seconds passed in silence. “Mylimoji,  _ come here. _ ”

The authoritative tone of his voice finally spurred you into action. You stood up and strolled to join him in the bathroom. Hannibal had placed a box of bath bombs on the counter of the sink, and he watched from his spot near the door as you selected a deep blue one and dropped it into the water that filled the bathtub. You glanced back at him, and he only quirked his eyebrow in response. You took the signal for what it was and began undressing, placing your clothes into the basket and lowering yourself into the water once he gave you a slight nod.

“That’s it, princess.” He praised you, stooping down to sit on the edge of the tub and press a kiss to your scalp. “Do you need help, or would you like me to go prepare dinner?” A blush creeped up your cheeks again as you ran your hands through the water, feeling the rush of it in between your fingers. “If you need help, you need only ask.”

“No, daddy,” you managed to reply, shaking your head slightly. “I don’t need help.” He ran his fingers through your hair once, then twice, before standing up and leaving you, closing the door behind him. You leaned back, relaxing in the water for a few minutes. You enjoyed being taken care of, but there was still something missing. There was an itch underneath your skin, in your mind, that submission wouldn’t be able to scratch or soothe. Letting out an exhale, you straightened and began methodically scrubbing your skin clean, watching the soap bubbles transfer from your skin to the tinted water. When you felt that you were sufficiently clean, you exited the bath and wrapped yourself in the plush, white cotton towel that was left out for you. 

Leaving the warm and air of the bathroom, you found a matching set of teal pajamas neatly folded on the edge of the bed and heard the sounds of Hannibal busying himself in the kitchen. You smiled as you dried the droplets of water from your body and wrung out your hair. The pajamas were soft to the touch when you picked them up to examine what Hannibal had picked: a simple set of shorts and a long-sleeve shirt. They weren’t unattractive, by any means, even in their simple design they looked more expensive than anything you would have owned before Hannibal. However, he’d obviously prioritized your comfort. Some part of that sat wrong with you as you put them on, the fabric slipping over your skin and making you shiver. As your arms found their way into the sleeves, a realization washed over you, causing your breath to stop in your throat momentarily. 

It wasn’t submission that you needed, it was  _ power.  _ With the surfacing of emotions you’d spent years bottling, you felt out of control, and you’d needed to take a break from your _other_ activities in order to avoid the attention of the FBI. You’d wanted Hannibal to pick out something more attractive for you, because feeling  _ wanted _ gave you a taste of power. Almost automatically, the gears in your head began turning, formulating a plan for the rest of the night ahead. You’d get what you wanted, one way or another.


	2. Chapter 2

When you finally exited the bedroom, pajamas on and wet hair brushed and falling around your shoulders, Hannibal was finishing dinner preparations in the kitchen. Leaning on the doorframe, you observed him quietly and watched him plate for a few seconds to admire the way his muscles rippled and flexed underneath his dress shirt, more easily visible now that he had discarded the extra layers of clothing he always wore.

“Daddy,” you purred, delighting in the almost imperceptible shiver you saw run up his spine. While you’d played this game before, you hadn’t delved into the sexual; it was only framed as a way for you to submit when the pressures of life began to weigh on you too heavily. “Can I help you with anything?” Hannibal paused for a second, and you could almost see him stitching the seams of his person-suit a little tighter.

“No thank you, mylimoji,” he responded after a few seconds, turning the lion’s share of his attention back to stirring something bubbling in a pot. “Will you go take your seat at the table? I will only be a moment more.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you quipped, taking one final look at his form before navigating to the dining room. He’d surely put his jacket and vest on before dinner, and the thought filled you with a sense of frustration that was immediately cooled when you found a small, glossy black box on the table at your normal place. A small noise of intrigue escaped your throat as you settled into your chair. Hannibal joined you in the dining room, two plates balanced on one arm, before you could open your mouth to question its presence. Waiting for you to remove the gift from the table, he set your food in front of you before placing his own plate down and sitting at your side. You gave him a small smile, infinitely more pleased at seeing that he had forgone the rest of his suit, before questioning him. “What’s this?”

“ _ Amatriciana _ , a traditional Italian pasta dish with a sauce of tomatoes, Pecorino cheese, and guanciale.” You huffed, clutching the box tighter in your hands, fingers playing at the end of the velvet ribbon tying it shut.

“No doubt made from one of your own pigs,” you mused, eyes flicking down to catch the quirk of his lips at your comment. “However, I was referring to this.” You tapped the box with one of your fingertips. A suspicious smile broke out across Hannibal’s face.

“A gift,” he said simply, raising a glass of white wine to his nose before taking a sip. “Will you open it?” 

Finally having been granted permission, you loosened the knot of the ribbon and quickly folded it between your fingers despite the overwhelming urge to leave it as a crumpled pile on the perfectly polished surface of the table. It wouldn’t be productive to be a brat now, when you would need his trust so soon in the future. Removing the lid, you let a slow breath escape your parted lips. It was  _ beautiful.  _ Sitting among the black tissue was a collar made of striking white leather. Small, opalescent clear crystals were set every centimeter or so around the circumference, and a similarly small silver ball stud with a descending ring was placed in the middle. With shaking hands, you set the box down and lifted the collar, turning it over in your hands. On the inside of the collar, opposite the ball stud and ring, there were initials etched into the leather in a simple yet elegant font: HL. 

“Oh,  _ daddy _ ,” you all but wept, lifting your eyes to his sparkling maroon ones. “Thank you, it’s beautiful.” You shifted your hair to one side, twisting in your chair as you pressed the collar to your throat and let Hannibal buckle it tightly against your skin. While faced away from him, you let a devious smile play across your features. You did truly love the collar; its slight pressure against your windpipe and pulse caused a warm heat to pool in your lower belly. You couldn’t deny, however, that this added level to your submission would only work in your favor up until the minute you decided to turn the tables and force Hannibal figuratively, and perhaps literally, to his knees for you.

“I’m glad, princess,” Hannibal purred, causing you to shiver in response. It didn’t matter what pet name he called you; they all viscerally affected you in the same way. “You should eat your dinner before it gets cold.” You obliged, falling into a comfortable silence as you devoured the meal that he had prepared for you as politely as you could for someone that hadn’t eaten since the day before. Every few minutes, Hannibal would reach over and place his hand on your bare knee and squeeze slightly or run his fingertips along where the collar met the column of your throat.

Once you were both finished, Hannibal dismissed you from the table with an instruction to prepare drinks for the two of you and wait in the study while he tended to the dishes. You poured a glass of scotch for him and mixed up a quick traditional daiquiri for you from extensive bar cabinet in the back of the study before placing his glass on the harpsichord and curling up on the nearby couch, pulling the soft, dark green blanket from the back and spreading it over your legs.

You were halfway finished with your drink by the time Hannibal joined you, his light-brown hair mussed and now falling softly against his forehead instead of swept to the side in his typical immaculate style. His eyes fell to his glass, a small smirk playing at his lips as he took its placement for the request it was, striding over and settling down onto the bench. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back against the couch, trying to focus on the sounds of the instrument instead of how dexterously his long fingers moved along the keys. Months later, there wasn’t anything about him that had lost its capacity to make you weak and reduce you to a begging mess for anything he deigned to give you, whether it be pleasure or punishment. You shook your head slightly to clear your head, hearing a soft exhale of amusement from his mouth. Of course, he didn’t need to actually look at the keys and instead caught your obvious daydreaming.  _ Asshole. _

After a few renditions of the select compositions that Hannibal knew by heart, the sound of him moving across the floor caused you to open your eyes and look up, blinking to adjust the already dim light of the room, provided mostly by the fire roaring in the fireplace and a few well-placed candles. Hannibal stalked across the floor, picking a book from the shelves before moving towards the couch and sitting opposite you, gesturing toward his lap with his free hand. You obligingly laid down, resting your head against his strong thighs, cuddling up under the blanket even more. Hannibal’s hand came down to stroke the side of your face as he began reading aloud in a foreign language. The few understandable words revealed the language to be his native Lithuanian. Your eyes slipped closed as you got lost in the sound of his voice and the sensation of his fingers as they began slipping through your hair. If you’d been particularly tired, you would have certainly fallen asleep. However, you’d spent most of the day napping, and you weren’t willing to let the moment slip by you.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, listening to him read and letting him pet you. Time didn’t quite feel real when you were with him; the institution felt almost irrelevant, as if he himself could cause the clock to bend to his will. You eventually rolled over onto your back, staring up at him. Once he sensed your movement, he carefully marked his place with the small ribbon attached to the spine of his book before closing it and devoting his attention entirely to you.

“Thank you, daddy,” you said, giving him a small smile.

“You stated that we will need to move soon,” he replied, not acknowledging your words of gratitude. “Is there a specific location that you would prefer to visit?” He leaned back slightly, relaxing into the cushions of the couch, but his eyes never left yours. His hand ceased its movement through your hair and came to rest, curving slightly around your collarbone with the tips of his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“My first instinct was Germany,” you admitted, tilting your head to give him more access to your neck. “We could try Berlin. I wouldn’t be opposed to Greece.”

“I will admit that I am less fond of Germany,” he said, eyes roaming over your face and drinking in the shadows created by the fire as they flickered across your features. “Greece, however, I am almost as fond of as France. Perhaps Athens?” You nodded, reaching up to curl your fingers around his wrist. You were getting desperate for more contact with him, and he seemed to be able to tell as he smirked and allowed his other hand to resume combing through your hair, playfully tugging at it to make you yelp.

“Daddy,” you whined, squirming and trying to hide your pleasure at the sound of his breathing picking up slightly. Instead, you continued as if you hadn’t noticed. “I talked to Abigail today. She says it should only be six months before they can join us.”

“That’s very good,” Hannibal mused, the slight crease in his brow betraying his concentration on slowing his breathing. To most people, it would be imperceptible, but you noted it and stored it in your mental repository of his facial expressions. You were getting better at seeing through his person suit, and if it was not for that crease and his breathing, there would be no indication that you had affected him at all. “We can spend the spring and summer in Athens before meeting Will and Abigail in the fall. Perhaps that will be our trip to Germany? I believe Will and Abigail will like it there.”

“That sounds nice,” you replied, working to keep your expression open and content even as you worked to pull up a mental map of Europe in your head. Hannibal would want to leave Europe fairly soon after Will and Abigail joined you, five months at the most, so that you’d be settled in a more permanent location before the new year. You knew better than to admit this to Hannibal, but you wanted to visit Lithuania and see his childhood home. He would never agree to it, of course, but if your mental map was correct, only Poland was between Germany and Lithuania. You could convince Will and Abigail to join you for a weekend trip and tell Hannibal that you would be in Poland, citing your desire to see castles, something that Hannibal would be sufficiently disinterested in so that he would prefer not to accompany you. Despite your attempt to keep your expression neutral, you noticed Hannibal staring down at you with an open mix of curiosity and slight displeasure. You slowly blinked at him apologetically.

“Where did you go?” He questioned, tugging at your hair again. The pain was sharper this time, but you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed it. You let a small moan escape your throat. You might as well put your plan into action now.

“Just thinking about how you take such good care of me, daddy,” you replied, lowering the pitch of your voice slightly. You threw the blanket off of you and onto the floor, ignoring the mild affront you could feel from him in response as you stretched, bringing your arms over your head and turning your head slightly, nosing along his inner thigh and letting your breath blow against his groin. You felt his hand tighten in your hair as a response. “Mm, daddy, can I take care of you?” You blinked up at him innocently, unable to stop the smile from forming on your face when you saw his darkened eyes and dilated pupils. You squirmed slightly again, remembering his previous reaction, and you saw his throat work silently around a swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What would you do to take care of me, princess?” He whispered, voice slightly husky. You bit your lip as you slid your legs off the couch, spinning and repositioning yourself so that you were placed between his knees, which he easily spread to accommodate you. You brought your hands up to slowly rub against his thighs, fingernails scraping lightly against the fabric of his slacks. You lowered your jaw a little, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Can I suck your cock, please, daddy?” Despite his stated aversion to profanity, his reactions when you spoke dirty to him betrayed his words. You could see the outline of his cock pressing against the zipper of his slacks, and you let your tongue dart out to wet your lips. “I want to taste you, daddy, I want you to use my mouth to make you feel good.”

“Yes, baby girl,” he breathed, and you paused for a second at the new term before smiling and thanking him. You reached up to undo his belt buckle, pulling the leather through the loops before successfully removing it and placing it next to him on the couch. Next, you worked on unbuttoning and working down the zipper of his slacks, pulling them and his silken underwear down just enough for his cock to spring out, already hard and precome leaking out of the tip.  _ Fuck,  _ you thought,  _ could he get any more beautiful? _

Trying your hardest to maintain eye contact with him, you leaned down and ran the flat of your tongue up his length, flicking it at the very tip to gather up the wetness there. Hannibal reached down and gathered your hair in his fist, holding it at the base of your neck while you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, letting your eyes slide closed and resting your hands on his upper thighs. You were determined to only use your mouth for now, still wanting him to read you as subservient to him. His other hand came to rest on the back of your head, slowly pushing you down to take more of him into your mouth. You worked to relax the muscles of your throat, taking him as far as you could without gagging, though you were sure that he would enjoy it if you did. 

“You look gorgeous like this, princess,” you heard him groan. You only hollowed out your cheeks in response, beginning to slowly move up and down his length and tracing the veins with the tip of your tongue. “Your mouth feels exquisite,” he continued, flexing his fingers in your hair. “You are going to be such a good girl for daddy, aren’t you? You will take whatever I give you, my good little girl.” You moaned around him, pleased at the answering intake of breath you got from the vibration. Despite your own arousal at your affect on him, you spread your legs farther apart to deny yourself any pleasure, something he noted almost immediately. “That’s it, beloved. Keep your legs spread; you know that your pleasure is mine to control.”

Hannibal’s hand moved from the back of your head to your cheek as you took him down your throat once more, suppressing your gag reflex so that your lips were wrapped around the base of his cock. His liberal praise and the tensing of his thigh muscles under your palms were evidence of his enjoyment. Swallowing around him, you wondered if he had initiated this dynamic with your current situation in mind before the thought was wiped from your mind by the feeling of Hannibal’s thumb tracing where your lips were stretched around him before pressing in on the corner of your mouth, breaking the suction and letting some of the spit that had accumulated in your mouth leak out.

“Let daddy use your mouth,” he urged, removing his thumb and wiping it across your cheek. You obediently opened wider and went still, letting him guide you as he thrust up into your mouth. “That’s… that’s a good girl,” he praised in between deep, rumbling moans and small gasps. “Do you hear how incredible you make daddy feel with your soft, wet mouth?” You moaned again, staying still but working your tongue against him. Hannibal released a loud moan, his mouth dropping open and head tilting back at the feeling. You let your hands slide encouragingly against his inner thighs, noting that you were enjoying this almost as much as he was. Another night, once your thirst for control had been quenched, you would be more than willing to let him use you in any way that he saw fit. However, his current state left him less aware, and you took the opportunity to slowly move your hands away and reach for the belt next to him. Careful to not move your head, you grabbed it by the buckle to prevent any noise and pulled it down to the floor, bringing it in front of you. His head snapped back up and he stared down at you. You froze, worried that you had been found out, but when you met his gaze, his eyes were glazed and he looked completely undone. 

“Do you want daddy to come in your mouth, princess?” Unable to nod or reply, you attempted to give him to convey with your eyes that  _ yes, god yes,  _ did you want that. You moaned again for good measure, satisfied when his breath caught and head dropped back again, fucking your mouth with renewed purpose. You let him use you, instead focusing your attention on the belt in your hands. Without your eyes, it was difficult to wind it into the appropriate figure-eight shape, but you managed to fashion an acceptable restraint, quickly placing it back on the couch cushion and hoping that it was pushed far enough away that in Hannibal’s post-orgasm haze he wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Shortly after you returned your hands to his legs, he groaned, low and deep in his throat, and pushed you as far down as you could go on his cock. You felt somewhat frustrated with the lack of verbal warning, but you dutifully swallowed when you felt the first spurt of his release hit the back of your throat. You closed your lips around him again, sucking through his orgasm until you felt the tenseness in his body ease and he went lax beneath you. You smiled, letting him out of your mouth and crawling up into his lap. He linked his arms around your waist while you wound yours around his neck and peppered his face with small kisses.

“That was wonderful, daddy, thank you,” you murmured, placing a soft kiss on his lips before pressing your forehead to his. He stayed silent, eyes still closed. Post-orgasm was one of the few times you got to see Hannibal relaxed. His relaxation, however, would fade quickly, so you needed to act. Trying not to shift your weight, you let one arm drop from his neck and slowly reach down to the belt. You looped one opening around your own wrist before bringing your arm back up, letting the belt and your hands hang off the back of the couch. Hannibal slowly ran his hands up your sides and to your shoulders, seemingly in a show of affection and out of a desire to just touch you. You smirked, slipping your wrist out of the belt and grabbing each end with your hands. He was only making it easier for you.

You waited until his hands had started to slowly rub along your arms before quickly shifting, digging your knees into his hips and rocking back out of his hold. You grasped his hands in yours, shoving them through the loop in the belt as his eyes flew open. He snarled at you, teeth glinting in the firelight, but you only smiled and pulled on the free end, tightening the restraint around his wrists. You weren’t delusional enough to assume that he wouldn’t be able to free himself eventually, but you hoped that he would be interested enough to not struggle too much.

“What do you think you are doing?” Hannibal questioned, his voice cold. You only grinned, kissing up his jaw as you positioned his bound wrists behind his head and over the back of the couch. It was an uncomfortable position, but you knew he would be able to handle it.

“Daddy,” you whispered in his ear, taking a pause to bite and pull at the lobe. “I was such a good girl for you, don’t you want to be a good daddy for me?” You moved your knees from his hips, letting them rest on either side of his legs. “Don’t you want to take care of me?” You rolled your hips down, grinding yourself against his spent, soft cock.

He only answered with a groan, his eyes screwing closed again as he rocked back up into you. You hummed in quiet satisfaction, unbuttoning his shirt to gain further access to his skin. You raked your nails down his chest once you were finished, marking the surface with red scrapes. 

“Beautiful,” you said, licking your lips. Hannibal’s eyes had opened again, and they met yours as you looked up at his face. “But it needs something else, don’t you agree?” He didn’t respond, he only gave you another silent snarl and tilted his head back and to the side, baring his neck.  _ Perfect. _ “That’s it, daddy.” You leaned down and pressed your teeth to his neck, running your tongue along his pulse. You could feel him hardening again, his erection pressing up into you as you ground down against him with renewed vigor and sunk your teeth into his skin, not stopping until the coppery taste of his blood flooded your mouth.

Hannibal groaned at the same time you did, his shoulder muscles working as he worked against the restraint. You placed your hands on his arms as a warning, and he obeyed immediately, but the sweetness that came with anger joined his scent and taste. Licking the blood from his wounds, you pulled away, grinning at the frenzied look in his eyes.

“Is this your reckoning, mylimoji?” He questioned, his voice low and dark. You only smiled, pressing your fingers underneath your bite to encourage the blood to bead and trickle down to his shoulder. 

“It’s a punishment, daddy,” you replied after a moment, sliding off his lap and standing in front of him. “What kind of daddy leaves his little girl to take care of herself?” You slowly pulled your top over your head, discarding it in a heap with the blanket on the floor. Next, you worked your shorts and underwear down your legs. You spun slowly, giving Hannibal the chance to observe your naked body before tugging at his knees and forcing his hips to the center of the cushion. With a hand flat on his chest, you pushed his upper body back, giving yourself the space to return to his lap and line him up with your entrance.

“A punishment.” His statement ended with a growl as you lowered yourself down on to him, your fingers flexing on his shoulders. 

“Yes, daddy,” you gasped, rolling your hips against him again and relishing the feeling of him stretching you. You let your head fall onto his shoulder as you began to ride him, raising yourself up so that his head almost slipped out of your entrance before sliding all the back down. “I’m such a good girl for you,” you panted, your words separated with soft moans. “I obey you, I wear this pretty collar for you, I make you cum with my mouth. What do I get in return?” You brought blood to the surface of his shoulder with your teeth before leaning back, licking the red off of them as he watched. You wound your hands in his hair, pulling sharply on the strands. “You leave me alone all day to go to work, you come home and leave me alone again to go to your precious kitchen. You hunt without me,” you hissed. “You’re supposed to take care of me daddy; you’re supposed to keep me happy. Pretty little trinkets and extravagant meals aren’t enough to make up for your losses.” He opened his mouth to reply, but you moved one hand to wrap around his throat before he could.

“No,” you ordered. “Stay quiet and let me take what I need from you, since you aren’t obliged to give it to me yourself. The only words I want to hear out of your mouth are you warning me when you get too close, because you will  _ not  _ finish without my permission, daddy.” You were rewarded with a moan in response. His eyes had softened into something like adoration, and he nodded at you with his lips parted, allowing you to kiss him and lick deeply into his mouth. Emboldened by the shift in his mood, you increased the pace, taking him deeper and shuddering when you felt the head of his cock nudging your cervix. You let your eyes slip closed, focusing on the sensation building within you.

“Please, baby girl,” Hannibal grunted into your kiss, the sound of his voice causing you to constrict around him, your walls squeezing his cock. He gasped, pulling his head back before continuing. “I am so close; I want you to cum with me.” You bit your lip, tilting your hips slightly forward and- 

“Oh fuck,” you yelped, pushed closer to completion by the new angle. “Yes, daddy, I’m close too.” He stilled under you almost immediately, giving one last upward thrust into your wet heat as his orgasm overtook him. The feeling of his release pushed you over the edge as well, hips jerking and riding out the last waves of pleasure as they crashed over you. Spent, you slumped against him, resting your head on his unbloodied shoulder and burying your nose into his neck. You jumped slightly as his arms wrapped around you again, his fingertips tracing patterns on the skin of your back.

“When did you get out of the belt?” You questioned, voice muffled by his skin, as you were reluctant to pull away. Hannibal chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Only seconds ago, mylimoji,” he assured. The two of you spent a few minutes in silence, breathing against each other before Hannibal shifted, pulling out of you. You winced at the wet feeling that followed, your joined fluids almost certainly staining the fabric of his pants. He seemed to pay this no mind, instead gathering you up in his arms and abandoning the couch. He carried you to the bedroom, setting you down carefully before procuring a towel to clean you both up.

“I love you so much,” you blurted out when he finally laid down next to you, reaching out and clinging on to his still-naked body. You regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. Hannibal’s breathing immediately stopped, his chest remaining silent and still for a second that stretched into what felt like an eternity.

“Marry me,” Hannibal finally breathed, his words rougher and accent more pronounced than normal. He turned to face you, his eyes red and wet with unshed tears. “We can leave for Greece on Friday. Marry me once we get there.” You felt almost dizzy, disoriented, seeing him like this. You slid across the sheets and into his waiting arms, curling around him protectively like a snake guarding her young.

“Yes,” you replied, tears of your own sliding down your cheeks. “I’d marry you tomorrow if you wanted, my love.” You reached out and stroked his face, using your thumb to wipe away any tears that spilled over.

“I have loved you since the first time I saw you, beloved,” he whispered, shaking slightly in your hold. You furrowed your brow, concerned at his uncharacteristic display of emotion. He let out a watery laugh, arms tightening around you as he kissed your forehead to relax you. “It was terrifying,” he admitted, “to have spent so long unaffected and unattached, only then to gaze into your eyes and find my heart pierced by Cupid’s sharpest arrow. At the cliff house, to realize that you were willing to die for me and at my hand, I felt as though I must be trapped in a dream for you to love me back so wholly and completely. In Greece, once you are my wife, I vow that I will take the utmost care of you. I will not take a job. I will spend my time here, with you at my side.”

“It was just part of the scene,” you whined, but he shushed you, continuing to cradle you against his chest.

“It does not matter,” he whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and plunging the two of you into darkness. “It is what we desire, and so it shall be. Sleep now, mylimoji.”


End file.
